


The Porch Swing

by PiecesOfScully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, MSR, PRE AND POST REVIVAL, txf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7664497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiecesOfScully/pseuds/PiecesOfScully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The happenings on and around a porch swing at the unremarkable house</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Porch Swing

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my amazing betas Kristin and Liz.

2006

The crickets harmonized with the throaty croaks that floated up from the frog’s pond as the long grass around the house swayed back and forth in the gentle breeze. Stars twinkled brilliantly against the dark blanket of the sky, with the moon casting a crisp glow across the rolling acreage. Mulder leaned back against the weather worn stairs, crossing his legs out in front of him. Beads of sweat lazily dripped down the dark bottle of beer to his left, a small wet ring dampening the wood underneath. 

He could smell the faint traces of her perfume before the gentle _thud thud thud_ of her socked feet against the porch boards audibly announced her arrival outside. He patted the stair next to him. 

“Have a seat, Scully. Look at your view.”

Little feet nuzzled under the side of his ribcage while the edges of an Aztec printed blanket that had seen better years draped over his right shoulder. The sudden warmth of her shins against his side made his body acutely aware of the temperature’s gradual drop from tank tops and sunscreen weather, to the hooded sweatshirts and bonfires of autumn. 

“You should come inside, Mulder. It’s getting chilly out,” she said quietly, careful not to disturb the symphony of the night. He nodded before taking a sip of his beer, then set it down as gently as she had spoken. 

The slight rushes of wind rustled her hair, carrying the scent of fresh grass and honeysuckle. Mulder gaze fell upon her, comfort immediately settling into his bones. The fine lines from sleeping in pay-by-the-hour hotel room beds, bellies full of gas station food, and the thousands of miles on the road had already begun to slowly erase themselves from her face, even though they’d only purchased the house a few hours earlier. Boxes full of the few family heirlooms they were able to rush into a storage unit rented under an alias years earlier still sat piled high just inside of the front door, and scattered throughout the living room, waiting to be unpacked. If a few hours of stability could make such a difference, he had to wonder what even more time could relieve for her. 

“Maple or oak?” He whispered.

“Hmm?” She hummed in question, her eyes fixed on the ebony sky. 

“We should plant a tree,” he said resting his cheek against her knee. A grunt escaped his lips as he shifted his weight. “And buy a porch swing.”

A deep ache nestled heavily in his chest at the sight of the genuine smile that spread across her face, a sight he had rarely seen since boxes of Clairol’s Medium Chestnut Brown, large rimmed sunglasses, and baseball caps had become necessities. Since his fiery and eloquent redhead had been replaced with a brunette that held him at arm’s-length. What planting a tree had represented was not lost on her. Her freedom, however limited, ironically, meant the opportunity to stand still, to finally plant her own roots again. It was something she had desired for so long and so deeply as they had watched their lives and identities fade to a distant memory in the rear view mirror, that it hadn’t taken long before he had begun to crave it for her. Somewhere along the endless stretch of highway, around the time when his eyes would start to blur from the monotonous desert that rolled by, he’d find himself fantasizing about a small house in the middle of rolling fields with an actual mailbox to call their own. A queen-sized bed that rarely got made, smelling of her night time body lotion and their love making. A well worn couch that sat across from a TV lined with a fine layer of dust as their favorite movies played on repeat. 

“Maple,” she responded with a press of her lips to his forehead. “They’re beautiful in the fall.”

He nodded as is hand slipped under the blanket and around her calf, feeling the tight muscles under his fingertips. A groan vibrated throughout her chest as his thumb worked heavy pressured strokes along the muscle.

“God, Scully, even your calves have knots.”

“Just wait until you feel the ones that have taken up residence in my shoulders,” she said, rolling her head to the side. “I’m starting to think they might be a permanent addition to my anatomy.”

“Not if my magic fingers have anything to say about it,” he said while getting to his feet. 

Scully stood slowly. “Magic fingers? If my memory serves me right, Mulder, you still owe me for last time.” She pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders as he reached for her hand, taking it in his.

“It’s time for a hot shower for both of us,” he replied to her quizzical look while leading her through the front door, into the surrounding warmth of the house. “And I’m always happy to repay my debt.”

Under the hot spray of the shower, and always a man of his word, Mulder kneaded the knots and coaxed the tightness from her muscles. Her sigh of contentment carried them from the bathroom to their bedroom, sparsely furnished with an air mattress that lay in the center of the room. A few unopened boxes and a single lamp that sat next to the outlet. Damp towels were left at the doorway as an afterthought followed by a trail of water droplets that marked their path, as they eased themselves onto their makeshift bed.

Mulder brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek as they lay face to face. His fingers trailed lightly from her forehead down to her chin, he tipped her face up and pressed his lips to hers. Tears flooded behind her eyelids as he kissed her slowly, her mouth opening beneath his with a sigh. A familiar warmth spread throughout her core, tingling and prickling as he pressed his body against hers, soft moans escaping their lips as they explored one another, tentatively, as if it was their first time. 

In a way, it was. 

Over time, during their nights spent on the run, slow and tender love making had gradually transitioned into a basic, primal need. It had evolved into fucking. Long gone were the nights filled with whispered confessions of love and adoration, delicate touches, and post-coital cuddling. Making love had been replaced with almost meaningless sex that had been fueled by his anger with her for growing so distant, and inflamed by her resentment of him and his decisions. Tension created by tight-lipped conversations, and anxious silence full of self loathing being projected onto the other. 

They knew deep down that they were sabotaging what they’d created years before, but they were caught in a downward spiral, sinking deeper and deeper towards a black hole of despair. They felt powerless to stop it, but were terrified to admit what was happening, in the deafening silence of yet another dank motel room. Everything that had been left unsaid between the two of them was voiced with each deep thrust, the angry, inflamed scratches she’d purposely clawed into his back, and every rough pull of her hair. Sex had become their most crucial survival technique, because if they didn’t fuck it out of their systems, they would have likely killed each other. 

Tonight, however, the air mattress shifted against the wooden floor as their bodies moved together at a slow, sensual pace, savoring every second. ‘I love you’ said with feather-light trails of her fingertips along his spine, ‘’I missed you’ said with his lips pressed to that soft spot below her ear. Scully placed her hands on both sides of his face, locking her eyes with his, holding him close as he made love to her for the first time in ages. Finally back where they had started, back where they belonged. 

2008

The early sun painted the sky with an array of rich pink and orange hues, and birds chirped their morning song accompanied by a slow, rhythmic creaking of the porch swing’s chains rubbing against the hooks that held it in place. Her legs carried her at a glacial pace, her gait heavy and shaky like a toddler still working to master the art of walking, leading her through the front door, the sound of the swing beckoning her presence. 

“Morning,” she mumbled through a stifled yawn. She raised her arms above her head, stretching the night from her limbs. The Knicks shirt she’d claimed as her own rode up her thighs a few inches, offering him a slight glimpse of the pale blue panties hiding beneath the hem. 

Mulder sat on the far end of the swing, swaying gently, still wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt from his run. He loved her in the morning. He loved her all of the time, of course, but morning Scully was his favorite. Her normally pristine hair was haphazard and messy, and freckles and clean skin replaced the mask of makeup. Too many questions in the early morning earned him a side eye and a snarky response, but keeping quiet until she was ready to converse was rewarded with long hugs. 

A cup of coffee that he had prepared exactly to her liking was held out to her in offering. She happily accepted the steamy mug, humming her gratitude as the cup’s contents woke her tastebuds. How he managed to get it perfect every time, she’d never know. It was an X file in and of itself. One of his many talents, and many mysteries. 

“Morning, doc,” he said as his fingers tugged at her shirt, skimming over her bare thigh. “Come, sit. It’s statistically proven that sunrises are infinitely better when you’ve been exonerated, and are officially a free man.” 

The swing came to rest, as she sat cautiously at the other end. 

“I’ll sit with you only if you promise me one thing,” she said while peering over the lip of the mug. 

Like a confused puppy, his head cocked to the side.

“Promise me that you won’t start singing ‘Free Bird’ again.”

“But Scully,” he started.

“Nope,” she said holding up a finger. “Promise me.”

With an over exaggerated sigh he crossed his heart with his index finger. “I won’t even hum a single note.”

The swing jostled a little as she settled herself next to him, easing herself under the crook of his arm, fitting like a puzzle piece finally connected to its mate. He reached around, pulling her legs so they lay bent across his lap. 

Strands of hair gone rogue during her previous hours of slumber tickled his nose as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the mixed scent of day old shampoo, sleep, and lingering traces of laundry detergent. 

Home, home, home.

The word echoed throughout the deepest depths of his mind, in time with each creak of the chains as they swayed back and forth. Such a simple word, yet it held so much meaning; a notion so foreign to him for so many years. 

Freedom is an interesting concept, he thought to himself. He now had the ability to go anywhere he pleased, but right now there was no where he’d rather be.

2011

“And Tara says that little Matthew is now the pitcher for his school’s baseball team,” Maggie murmured, her voice light. 

“He’s not so little anymore,” Scully said smiling, gently sitting back against the backboards of the porch swing. It’d been over a year since she’d last spent time with her nephew, who’d sprouted over the years into a quiet, gangly teenager that towered over her. “He’s a young man, Mom. Quite the impressive young man, from what Tara and Bill have said. One to be proud of.”

“I’m proud of all of my grandchildren, sweetheart.”

Scully’s heart slowed for a moment at her mother’s words, at her slight emphasis on the word ‘all.’ There was a novel length’s worth of meaning laced in the short sentence, the majority of it hidden in that small 3 letter word. All of her grandchildren. 

Her eldest grandchild, Matthew. Charlie’s two daughters that the family had yet to meet and likely wouldn’t. Her late granddaughter Emily. William. 

The mere thought of his name caused snippets of conversations from times past, between her mother and herself, to course through her mind, driving all feelings of peace and tranquility aside.

The rough waters of arguments and heated words said in the moment…

“Mom, you don’t understand. Please, just listen,” she’d pleaded. 

“There were other options, Dana! I’ve buried a daughter, don’t you dare imply that I don’t understand the loss of a child! The difference between us is you made the choice.”

The calm lakes of hushed, whispered prayers at the end of the guest bed… 

“And please, Lord, please continue to watch over my sweet grandson William, and see that he’s loved by his adoptive family. Please continue to give my daughter the strength she feels she lacks. She tries so hard to put on a brave front, Lord, but I know deep down she’s suffering.”

With a gentle shake of her head and a tight grip on the porch swing’s armrest, Scully attempted to force the voices away. She couldn’t do this to herself anymore. Apologies for harsh words were made and accepted years ago, regardless of how honest they were and how much they’d hurt. Forgiving others was the easy party. Forgiving one’s self, however, was a true test of her own strength of will. 

It felt like just yesterday that she’d actually invited the pain, wanted it to wrap itself so tightly around her heart in hopes that it would smother the organ into a lifeless muscle. She felt she’d deserved the pain, even if it had been dealt by her own mother. At that point in her life it didn’t matter who was dishing it out, as long as she was receiving it. Someone else hurting her, hating her, took the obligation off of herself. 

Months of therapy and hours of torturous confessions had finally tipped her past the point of masochism, the sharp stab of regret subsiding to a dull ache that she carried with her daily like the latest fashion accessory. 

The wood grain of the swing’s seat felt smooth under her fingertips as she slid her hand across the short distance to her mothers, linking their fingers in a loose embrace. Her mother’s hand felt so soft and fragile under her own. 

“I’ve missed you, Dana,” Maggie said quietly, her gaze never leaving the acreage outstretched before them as she gently squeezed her daughter’s fingers.

“It hasn’t been that long, Mom. Just a few weeks.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it, sweetheart.”

Scully blinked quickly as the memory rushed over her like a tidal wave.

_The florescent light above the sink blinked rapidly, casting a grimy sheen across everything in the small bathroom, giving her reflection a look that could only be described as post-mortem chic. Cheap motels often had the smallest bathroom with the worst lighting. Her skin looked dull and grayed, her lips colorless and fading into the surrounding skin. His wife-beater clung awkwardly to her curves. If it were a few sizes smaller it might have been flattering, but instead, the armpits sagged exposing the satin sides of her black bra, the neck drooping and laying limply across her breasts. Dark circles intensified the icy blue of her eyes that were focused on applying the brunette hair dye to the outgrowth of her roots. She’d waited too long this time, as Kristine didn’t have roots. Kristine wasn’t a natural redhead that dyed her hair brunette._

_Kristine? Maybe it was Cora. Elizabeth? Who was she supposed to be this month?_

_Blinking slowly, she reminded herself to check the fake license that sat tucked into the pocket of the cheap leather handbag she now claimed as hers. Whoever she was._

_The supplies were arranged along the sink meticulously, reminiscent of the instruments she’d used for an autopsy. The bottle of color crème already mixed with the developer crème, then the small tub of Vaseline she’d swiped along her hairline with so not to dye her skin, a damp rag folded into quarters, and finally the gloves that she quickly slipped on._

_Methodically, she ran the dye along the part in her hair, line after line, spreading it evenly with her gloved hands. The gloves, she’d thought months ago, could give her a sense of herself, if only for the 20 minutes while the dye settled in. Give her piece of who she used to be, of who she left behind. For years they had been a crucial piece of her armor, fitting tightly as an extension of her, one of her chosen tools against the fight. But not these gloves, a plastic imitation that sat too loose around her fingers and gaped at her wrists._

_She was tracing the curve behind her ear when she saw him lean into the door frame. Ignoring him, she continued to work the liquid across the hair, spreading, blending, dyeing. His eyes poured over her, and she felt every swipe of a glance before finally meeting them with her own._

_Sadness. Empty. And something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Her arms lowered to her sides, her posture straightened, as she stared back at him attempting to read his face. The muscles along his arm twitched, but he didn’t move an inch as her eyes bore into his. He blinked, and it rolled off of him in waves._

_Guilt._

_She felt her blood pressure rise rapidly, heat spreading across her face, her skin reddening more and more with every passing millisecond. After asking her to leave everything she loved behind, telling her there wasn’t another way, successfully convincing her that this was for the best interest of everyone, he was feeling guilty. She knew it was irrational, unfair, but his guilt infuriated her. Her hands began to shake with anticipation, but she wasn’t sure if she was going to pound her fists against his chest as she screamed in his face, or break down and cry in his arms. The tank top she wore waved against her body as her breathing grew erratic, frantic. Still he stood there, his eyelids heavy like a puppy who’d been caught pissing on the floor. Her hand flexed repeatedly, the overwhelming desire to hit him startling her._

_She turned slowly to face him. His lips parted to say something, and she shut the door._

Scully shifted her weight, and laid her head on her mom’s shoulder. It had taken her months after their return to be able to let go of the other women she’d become, to find herself again, to let her mother in. She knew. 

2014

Scully leaned back against the arm rest of the porch swing, and tucked her toes under Mulder’s thigh. The paint had started wearing months ago, the wood looked distressed, weather worn. In the distance the sun was lowering, setting the colors of the trees and horizon ablaze in hues of burnt oranges and mustard yellows. She inhaled deeply, the air smelling crisp. Memories of childhood Halloweens and leaf raking rushed over her, and a smile crept across her face. Mulder slowly rocked the chair with ease, his hand resting on her knee. 

“This is my favorite time of year,” she said, her eyes closed, and her head resting against the back chain of the swing. “The colors of the trees, the smells-“

“Pulling that ratty, old sweater out of the closet,” he finished for her with a chuckle, tugging on her sleeve. 

He waited for a few moments for her defense of the forest green cardigan she donned every autumn, but was given a sideways glance, silence, and a perched eyebrow instead. Her choice of home wear was always a topic that incited teasing, but he secretly loved it when she wore that sweater. It was soft to the touch, making her even more comfortable to cuddle with than usual. Every time she put it on, he couldn’t help but want to pull her into his arms, and hold her in his lap for the evening. 

“Your birthday’s coming up in a few weeks,” she stated matter-of-factly. 

“I’m fully stocked in the sweater department, thank you,” he replied.

“Eight variations of the same black sweater, Mulder. You could use a little variety.”

“I wear what works. What’s next? My tie collection?”

That awarded him another sideways glance.

“Speaking of my impending date of birth, I was considering an early celebration.”

“You want to have a party? When?” she asked, staring directly at him, giving him her full attention. “Mulder, who would we even invite? I suppose we could call my mother, and maybe Walter. Oh, John and Monica haven’t been over in ages, -“

“Just us, preferably. And I was thinking tonight.”

“Okay,” she replied tentatively. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

His hand dove into his pocket, and pulled out a rolled, albeit somewhat crooked, joint. “Happy birthday!” he exclaimed with a broad smile across his face.

“Mulder,” Scully started. “Marijuana? Where did you even get that? Please don’t tell me you’ve been in town illicitly buying drugs in alleyways.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s my birthday,” he replied, still smiling.

“In two weeks,” she clarified. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. No.”

“Come on Scully, live a little.”

“I mean, we aren’t teenagers anymore. No. We really shouldn’t,” she said shaking her head. 

He reached into his pocket, producing a lighter, and held the flame to the tip, rolling it slightly between his fingers. Once it was burning to his liking, he brought it to his lips. Each small pull caused the end to glow radiantly, like a lone firefly in the night. He held it towards her, his chest puffed out broadly. 

“Mulder! Put that out now, what if someone sees? Or smells?” She whispered harshly while sitting up, looking around quickly.

“Who?” He asked as he exhaled, then coughed. “It’s just you, me, and the sunset, Doc.”

Chewing her bottom lip, she hesitated. Mulder held it close to her face, waving it back and forth, “You know you want to. Where’s that rebellious Dana Scully who used to steal her mom’s cigarettes that I’ve heard so much about? I know she’s still in there just dying to come out and play.”

Scully shook her head.

“Come on,” he persuaded. “We can pretend like your parents are sleeping upstairs, and I’ll grope you later during a heavy make-out session on the couch, while whispering sweet nothings in your ear.”

With a chuckle, she finally reached out and took it between her fingers, bringing it to her lips. His eyebrows rose as she handled the joint knowingly, as if it wasn’t her first time, but he bit his tongue, not wanting to change her mind. 

“Where did you say you got this?” she asked in a strained voice, her throat tight in an attempt to hold in as much smoke as possible. She passed the joint to Mulder, and exhaled slowly, marveling at the swirl of the smoke as it left her lips. The low burn in her throat felt familiar, reminding her of late nights of too much of her parent’s beer and her high school sweetheart James. 

The tip of it burned bright as he pulled the smoke into his mouth, letting it linger around the edges of his lips, before he inhaled deeply. “I didn’t,” he replied, his voice also strained. He took another small hit, then passed it back to Scully. “If I tell you, I will have to kill you,” he said smiling wolfishly. 

That million dollar smile spread across his face as she flashed her serious face his way. “Ok, ok. You know how the bridge is out over on Ridge Road?” 

She nodded, the movement making her feel a little light-headed, the swirling haze of the high invaded her senses. 

“Last week I didn’t want to run an alternate route, so, instead, I decided to take the path that runs along side of the bridge.”

“Through the creek?” she asked, before taking another hit, and passing it back to him. 

“Yes, I ran through the creek. It’s only about a foot deep and a few feet wide, so I was able to get through it pretty quickly. I basically hurdled over it. But as I was climbing back up the other side something caught my eye.” Mulder rolled the end of the joint on the swing’s armrest, depositing a little pile of ash, then brushed it away with a swipe of his hand.

“A marijuana plant.”

“Marijuana plants. Plural, Scully, there had to be hundreds of them. I’ve run that route so many times, I don’t know how I managed to miss them for so long. They weren’t even that far off of the road, hardly camouflaged by the surrounding trees.” He pauses to take a hit. “Anyways, I came home, jumped online, and did a little research on the process of growing and harvesting. According to the stoners on the marijuana message boards it’s actually a relatively complex process, and I think I may have pulled the plant a little premature, but-“

“Mulder! You stole the plant? The entire plant? We have just been released from the clutches of the government, and now I have to worry about some local drug cartel.” 

“You wanna hear this story or not?” He asked before taking another pull of the joint.

She held her hands up in defense, a giggle erupting from behind her lips. Her fingers immediately pressed against her mouth, in an attempt to force the giggle to stay put. 

“I grabbed the small hatchet from the shed, ran back, and chopped it down. Little bugger put up quite the fight, for it having such a skinny stalk. It was waving all over the place emitting this smell that was intoxicating, for lack of a better term. I threw it over my shoulder and sprinted back home so fast, I thought I was going to wear the soles out in my shoes,” he said laughing. 

“Like the roadrunner from that cartoon?” Scully asked through a fit of giggles.

“Yeah!” He exclaimed while pointing at her, before sitting back. “Yeah, and then I hung it in the shed to dry per the instructions, but after a few days it was still too fresh. Too wet.”

Her lips fell into an O as the realization hit her. “The dehumidifier… the one you asked for because you said it was too humid for you in your office. To which I told you was ridiculous, because it’s September and the humidity is actually quite low, but you’d insisted, saying that it was going to damage the paper artifacts you were keeping on the middle shelf.”

He laughed, “I was there, but thank you for reiterating our entire conversation. My, oh my, Doctor Scully, you certainly get chatty when you’re high."

Scully laughed again, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly as her hand covered the lower half of her face.

“And giggly, I might add.” He ran his fingers up the side of her ribcage, causing her to erupt in a full out belly laugh.

“Oh my god,” she nearly yelled, before swatting his arm with her hand. “Pepe le Pew! Mulder, the skunk that had been stalking our house? There was never a skunk was there?”

“Pepe was,” he said in his best French accent. “ How you say, my cover story. The weed finally dried, so I cleaned it up, and here we are.” 

“Mmm, croissants,” she said practically purring.

“Mmm, french maid’s outfit,” he countered.

“I would, you know.”

“You would what?”

“Make you croissants while wearing a French maid’s outfit.”

Mulders eyes enlarged, “Really?”

“Oui, oui, Monsieur,” she said giggling, mimicking dusting him with a feather duster. “I’ve always wanted to visit Paris,” she said suddenly pensive. “Climb the Eiffle Tower and look over the city once the sun has set, spend an afternoon at The Louvre, have lunch at a little outside café.”

“Sounds beautiful. Romantic, even,” he said. “Are there any French ancestors in your heritage? Now that I think about it, I think there’s a little French in my family history. Maybe even Irish. I mean, clearly, there’s some Irish in yours. That’s not all box color, seeing as the carpet matches-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Spooky.”

He chuckled at her overdramatically stern demeanor. “So, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you have any French in you?”

She shook her head, “Not that I’m aware of.”

He leaned in closely, “Would you like to?”

“Oh, no, Mulder,” she howled through her laughter. “You didn’t just go there.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Red.”

“I have a question for you, rather than an answer,” she said, suddenly pensive. “A serious question.”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘puff, puff, pass,’ Mulder? Stop bogarting.”

He chuckled as he passed her the joint, watching intently as her lips pursed while she pulled a slow drag. A long puff of smoke rolled out from her mouth, clouding heavily around them in the stillness of the evening. 

“Tastes lemony.” She licked her lips, running her tongue along her top lip slowly. “With a hint of metal.” 

“That would be a connoisseur error.”

“How so?” She asked before taking one final pull, then giving it back to Mulder.

“Philly Nelson told me to put it in a mason jar to cure,” he explained. Scully giggled at the mention of the name, but Mulder just shrugged. “Stoner’s username, from Philadelphia. I remembered that I’d stumbled across a few jars in the shed, but they had held miscellaneous nuts and bolts. I tossed them aside, and stuffed the weed in.” He took a small toke of the joint, “I probably should have washed it out first, but Philly didn’t mention that it needed to be clean.”

Scully shifted her weight around and leaned into the crook of his arm. Her head felt light and airy, her body loose and tingly. Giggles and laughing came as easy as they did 20 years ago, and God it felt good.

“What should we call it?” she asked suddenly.

“OG Mulder,” he replied automatically. 

“What? No,” she said giggling. “Umm, Foxy chronic.”

He laughed. “God, no. How about Redhead express?”

She pushed at his chest while laughing, inching away as his fingers danced against her side.

“No tickling! No, stop, this is serious.”

He held out his hand, fingers spread to show her he was surrendering. With a kiss pressed to her temple, he mumbled, “Sedona.”

“What?”

“Sedona.”

“As in Arizona?” she asked.

“As in the place I asked you to marry me.”

She snickered. “You asked me to marry you in a lot of places, Mulder.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled huskily into her hair. “But Sedona is where you said yes.”

She pressed her lips to his, sighing at the feeling of his hand at the back of her neck. She’d forgotten about the heightened senses when being high. 

A groan of disappointment reverberated through her as he pulled away, reaching for what was left of the joint. He held it to her, but she shook her head. A smirk spread across his face as he pulled a final hit into his mouth, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. She lips parted to accept his tongue, but was instead met with the gentle nudge of smoke, and she inhaled deeply. Her eyes opened to see him watching her, his eyes dark and pupils dilated, their mouths still pressed together. With a quick exhale through her nose, her tongue finally met his, her eyes closing at the sensation of it. 

Her hands find their way under his shirt, and tug it upwards, her fingertips grazing his nipples, eliciting a moan from him. He pulled her to her feet, then discarded his shirt, throwing it to the side. 

“What are you doing?” She asked, giggling, as he pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it into the front yard next to his now laying in the grass.

“Satisfying at least 3 fantasies I’ve had since I was 14,” he said as his fingers clumsily worked at the button and zipper of her jeans. The remainder of their clothing quickly followed suit, landing in a haphazard pile across the grass. 

His heartbeat quickened as she nakedly sauntered over to the half wall that wrapped around the porch; a quick prayer was directed to everything that was holy for his decision to install that the summer they moved in as she bent herself over it, her ass front and center, displaying for him her most intimate parts. She raised herself to the tip of her toes, and gazed back at him. “Right here?”

Christ on crutches, she was going to be the death of him. He shook his head, and sat in the center of the porch swing, arms stretched out along the back. Her eyes widened in awe, as if he just solved the equation for string theory. 

With eagerness, she turned and lifted her leg to mount him, but misjudged the distance, falling hard onto his lap causing the swing to lurch backwards. Hands grasping her ass tightly to hold her in place, his heels dug into the floorboards of the porch as the chains squeaked their resistance at the sudden addition of weight. 

“Easy there,” he says laughing.

Her fingers twisted into his hair, pulling his face to hers, her head swimming with desire as she kissed him deeply. Desire laced with a healthy dose of THC, which was amplifying every sensation that coursed through her. Each nerve ending in her body was on high alert, hypersensitive. His fingertips grazing down her spine sent a warm electric shock through her body, radiating down to her core, settling between her legs. They’d barely gotten started, and already her clitoris and inner walls throbbed, a delicious burning of anticipation. A deep, primal moan vibrated from her chest and poured into his mouth as her hips rocked forward grinding her clit against his hardened cock. Every touch was brimming with need, an instinct to satiate the deep hunger they felt for each other. 

Mulder slid his hands between them, and cupped her pussy, relishing in the heat that radiated across his palm, her wetness seeping onto his fingertips. Slowly, his fingers began to work their way along her folds.

“No,” she gasped, pulling his hand away.

“But-“ he’d started, but was silenced with her lips crashing down on his. Her hand wrapped around his dick, and before he could utter her name, she thrust her hips down hard, and he was deep inside of her. He hissed as her warmth instantly enveloped him, sending whatever blood was left in his head in a rush down to where they were connected. He gripped her hips to hold her still, to let him catch his breath, but she fought against him and began to ride him roughly. 

“Fuck, you need to slow down,” he grunted as her body slammed down on his, her hands gripping the back of the swing for leverage. 

“Oh my god, I can’t,” she whined. Her head tipped back as her back arched, her nipples brushing against the scruff on his face sent sparks throughout her breasts. 

Perspiration gathered at his hairline as he struggled to control himself, his grunts were short and breathless. The feeling inside of her, while normally incredible, was intensified, and he desperately fought the overwhelming need to come, willing his body to calm down. The chains of the porch swing shook, then stilled violently against the hooks drilled into the ceiling with each time she descended upon him. 

“Harder,” she ordered forcefully. “Oh fuck, harder. It’s like I can feel you throughout my entire body.” 

He clutched the armrest with one hand, his other firmly gripping her hip as he bucked his hips to meet her thrust for thrust, his legs shaking with exertion. Their moans grew louder, more uninhibited with each time they met, unable to control any aspect of the act. Their bodies, their hunger for one another, their carnal need completely taking over.  
He felt her walls constrict tightly around him, feeling her slide over the threshold into her orgasm, as he continued to thrust into her. A long moan erupted from her mouth as her nails dug deeply into his shoulders, the sudden pain triggering his own.

Craaaack

“Wha-“ he yelled, and was suddenly surrounded by Scully, his knees pressing into her back, her hair splayed across his face. 

The floor. They were on the floor. 

Dazed, they both looked around in confusion for a moment as small chips of wood fell around them like rain. Giggles erupted from behind her lips as she pressed her forehead to his. 

“I think we broke the porch swing,” he whispered, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers. 

2015

As she stepped around her SUV and walks up to the house in the darkness of the night, she could faintly see Mulder sitting with his back up against the house, next to the broken porch swing with it’s chains tucked in around it’s edges. The lights from the living room cast a glow through the windows that settled over him, illuminating his hunched shoulders and sullen demeanor. Slowly, she made her way up the steps, and crossed by him to place her briefcase in the empty seat of the swing. 

“I thought you were planning to fix this,” she said while nudging the edge of the wooden seat with her toe. “You’d promised me months ago that you would.”

He shifted his weight a little, momentarily giving Scully hope that he might answer her. She chanced a glance in his direction, only to see him close his eyes and rest his head against the siding. A board creaked beneath the weight of her foot, a welcome sound in yet another night of deafening silence. Her mind reels, grasping for any remnants of evidence lingering there, anything to explain how they’d gotten here. When had their masterfully skilled silent language that could speak volumes with a simple look turn into…this?

“Where are you, Mulder,” she whispered, as she leaned against the rail in front of him. “Where have you gone? Where is my one in five billion?”

Her fingers twitched against her thigh as she fought the nearly overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him. 

“The man, the shell of a man, sitting in front of me is not who I fell in love with all those years ago. Not the man I created a life with. Not the man who was so passionate, and dedicated to finding the truth. I’ve lost sight of him. I, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

She took a deep breath, and continued slowly, choosing her words carefully. “I know that none of this has worked out the way you thought it would. The way we thought it would. For years we fought the evil forces, we prepared to the best of our ability, we lost so many loved ones in the process, and we ran. We ran for our lives, and for our safety. We ran to maintain the little bit of freedom that we had left to make a difference; to stop what we believed was the inevitable. In the blink of an eye and without any questions, I left everything behind. You didn’t ask me to walk away from it all, but how could I not? Where ever you were going, I was going too. We sacrificed so much, Mulder, and for what purpose? That’s the bitter truth in all of this, the pill you can’t swallow, the white noise that keeps you up at night. We gave up everything to search for answers, to find a solution, to validate the predictions from that cigarette smoking son of a bitch for nothing. But I don’t want to believe that we have given William up in vain, Mulder. I can’t let myself believe that. I can’t allow you to turn it into that.”

Scully turned away, crossing the few steps to the opposite end of the porch, her knuckles fading to white as she gripped the railing. A deep sigh flowed from her lips as her head tipped back, silently begging the tears that now streamed down her face to cease. She couldn’t let him see her cry. Not this time. Mulder blankly stared, past the SUV, at the field that lay before him. He remained stoic as she cautiously walked to sit beside him. Her defeated stature mirrored his own. 

“Somewhere along the way I lost myself, my identity,” she said. “I’m no longer a friend, or a partner. I’m not a pathologist, or a federal agent. I’m not even a mother. They say once a mother, always a mother, but that’s not true. The day I placed our son in the care of strangers, was the day I gave up that title. Without you, I’m no longer a wife or a lover. When you retreated into the back of your mind, buried yourself away, you took what remained of me with you. I can’t recognize myself, and I don’t know who I am anymore. You’ve taken all that I had left.”

She turned her body to face him directly. “I can’t do this alone,” she whispered harshly. He braced his hand against the edge of the swing, using it to support his weight as he stood. Scully scrambled to her feet quickly, placing herself in front of him.

“I don’t want to do this alone. Mulder, I need you. You used to always say that to me, that you needed me. It’s my weak spot I guess, the desire to be needed by you. As much as I might have felt resentful or trapped, the truth is that I needed you just as much as you needed me. There were so many times that you were my sole source of strength, and I know I was yours as well. Please, let me be there for you now. Lean on me, and let me shoulder the pain for a while. Tell me to stay. Please, Mulder, I am begging you to just look at me and tell me to stay.” His eyes were fixed on her face that was now wet from a seemingly endless flow of tears, but they were void of any emotion. His jaw twitched, as his mouth opened finally to offer a response. 

“Are you finished?” He asked quietly. 

Scully stood there stunned, a multitude of different emotions raging through her, dozens of responses running through her mind, but when she opened her mouth nothing came out. Speechless. He’d rendered her speechless. 

Mulder pursed his lips and nodded once, then turned and slowly walked into the house, shutting the door behind him. 

2016

_Somethin' in your eyes, makes me wanna lose myself_  
_Makes me wanna lose myself, in your arms_  
_There's somethin' in your voice, makes my heart beat fast_  
_Hope this feeling lasts, the rest of my life_

Stones and rocks crackled under the tires of her SUV, the drive slow but purposeful. Her hands sat at the top of the steering wheel, loosely without tension, as her eyes lay on the long stretch of road ahead of her. The journey is familiar; one she’s made many times before this, one she could confidently make with her eyes closed. 

_If you knew how lonely my life has been_  
_And how long I've been so alone_  
_And if you knew how I wanted someone to come along_  
_And change my life the way you've done_

Boxes filled the backseat with garment bags draped across them, jostling slightly with each divot along the dirt road, blocking her vision in the rear view mirror. Her headlights danced along the overgrown weeds that line the ditch on either side, the evening dark and peaceful. The radio played softly in the background, the melody easing her mind, as the seat warmer’s heat eased her back muscles. 

_It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me_  
_It feels like I'm all the way back where I come from_  
_It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me_  
_It feels like I'm all the way back where I belong_

Chilled air rolled from the vents seated in her dashboard, sending ripples of goose bumps across her flesh as she thought of the reasons for this trip in the past. A high-speed drive lead by anger and resentment, her blood pressure abnormally high as she gripped the steering wheel so fiercely that she’d nearly lost feeling in her fingertips. A sluggish trek of heartache and desperation, her stomach in knots as she rolled the window down, reminding herself to breathe through the tears. An erratic excursion full of worry and panic, her heart racing as she pressed the gas pedal to the floor, barely able to control the vehicle. 

_A window breaks, down a long, dark street_  
_And a siren wails in the night_  
_But I'm alright, 'cause I have you here with me_  
_And I can almost see, through the dark there is light_

She turned left at the rusted mailbox surrounded by cattails, slowly, so not to kick up clouds of dust and dirt in her wake. With a click of the release button, she let the seatbelt fall into place as she made her way up the driveway. The house sat back a few hundred feet, a glow emanating from the windows calling her closer, like a lighthouse beckoning a ship on the ocean stuck in a storm. Her headlights lit the porch, and she saw him sitting on the porch swing, waiting for her. 

_Well, if you knew how much this moment means to me_  
_And how long I've waited for your touch_  
_And if you knew how happy you are making me_  
_I never thought that I'd love anyone so much_

The SUV jolted as it was thrust into park, while he swiftly made his way down the steps. The driver’s side door left ajar, drawn together like two magnets, she met him in the middle of the grass. Her arms immediately wrapped around his waist, tears threatening to fall from her lash line as his scent engulfed her. His one hand rested at the small of her back, while the other caressed hair. 

He pressed his lips to the crown of her head, her cheek pressed to his chest, and whispered, “Welcome home, Scully.”

fin

A/N: Song is Feels Like Home by Chantal Kreviazuk


End file.
